


One Shot: Crown and Consort

by brownskinsugarplum76



Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Desert, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Interracial Relationship, One Shot, Role Reversal, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownskinsugarplum76/pseuds/brownskinsugarplum76
Summary: This is a bit on the fringes of our LZ fanfics… It’s a fantasy/Harlequin-ish thing that was inspired by our dear firethatgrewsolow and Robert's satin pants in 1977. Robert is a character in captivity to a jealous queen, but at night, he becomes her ruler.





	One Shot: Crown and Consort

He was roused gently from his sleep, lest she see any bruises on him, her favorite. No one dared to be too rough with him after her reaction to what happened the first and last time he tried to escape.

“The Queen wishes to see you tonight,” her loyal attendant told him. “Get ready.”

The Queen had not summoned him in more than a week. He sat up and stretched, extending his arms and engaging and arching his muscular back, then rolling his neck to begin loosening up for what was sure to be a long night.

Even as his manhood quickened to granite with the thought of her and how wild she became under his weight when they coupled, he knew that his detainment, an inconvenient fact, would always taint what were otherwise devilishly appealing rendezvous with her.

He rose from the bed, a soft pallet of the finest cotton and silk in the same crimson hue that The Queen preferred for her lips. The feel of the sumptuous fabric against his naked skin was one of the few pure pleasures he had left: simple, sensual, asking nothing in return, unlike The Queen.

He slowly ran a hand through his hair, which was steadily growing down his back in lush ginger whorls, as she desired. He looked in the mirror and had to admire himself; he would’ve thought the hairstyle was absolutely impractical before, but he loved the romantic, godlike look it gave him, a look that was fitting for his position with The Queen. He was thankful for the hot, arid climate here that had made the curls nearly indestructible.

He admired his form some more. He was relieved when they permitted him to work in the blacksmith shop here, to resume his previous profession, because he needed something physical to do. The rhythms of the shop were the perfect remedy for his restlessness, and also for enabling him to maintain his fine Grecian art physique, which was the desire and envy of many in his old village.

He inhaled the sweet, earthy scent of sandalwood that wafted from the bath water. Her attendant had drawn a bath for him while he slept, fitful sleep that was full of fleeting images of the night he and his family were rounded up with the others from the village, before his home was burned to the ground and his village destroyed. He had not seen anyone else from his village in his year of captivity, though he had heard that his two children were alive. His wife, however… He couldn’t bear to think about it.

He walked past the bookshelf, crowded with evidence of his preferred pastime of reading, and descended into the bath that sat in one corner of the room. It was large enough for him and The Queen to have shared the space the last time he saw her, when they had enjoyed each other’s company long after the water had gone cold. Tonight, he let the slightly heated, scented water soothe him, though it would never wash away the reality of his change in fortune. Nothing here ever could. Not even The Queen.

After he was clean and dry, he turned his attention to the array of exotic clothes she had gifted him to wear during the nighttime visits: the satiny pants in rich jewel tones that complemented his sunny skin, and the flowing tunics in diaphanous fabrics. The clothes had been brought here from foreign lands, novelties that were cherished by The Queen and bestowed upon all she esteemed. He selected the second-skin blue pants that were her favorite, and a thigh-grazing tunic in many beautiful colors of spring. She told him once that she loved the shade of blue on him, that it softened the tempestuous blue shade of his eyes, a color she had never seen before in her land of dark hair, dark eyes, and chestnut skin.

He smiled at the memory but also felt shame and the familiar rush of conflicting thoughts. He harbored complicated thoughts of affection for her, but never love. He could never bring himself to love her, his captor, in the way she had professed once to love him. And then there was his love for his family, but also the guilt of being powerless to protect them and his village. He could not blot out those feelings, because they fueled the conviction that he would see his children again one day.

He stepped into his favorite thong sandals, and his visual transformation into the elegant giant of a man The Queen adored was nearly complete. On the inside, he tried to lock his heartbreak and frustration away for the night. With his mind steeled as best as he could, he selected the final adornments: several rings, necklaces and bracelets in silver and an array of gemstones. The simple gold hoop earrings remained in his ears, untouched.

Without an utterance he emerged from his gilded cage, his opulent palace room, to indicate he was ready for her.

***

The Queen’s attendant opened her door. Her beloved entered the room and promptly closed the door. Then he let his eyes get accustomed to the blaze of lighting from a staggering number of candles situated throughout her cavernous bedroom. The room was always much warmer than his, and the air always smelled of the rose scent that she preferred. It was the smell that he now associated with the soft, luxuriant curves of her body, a scent that clung to her even when they lay entwined, sweaty and exhausted, in the early hours of the morning.

His heart raced at the thought of smelling that rose scent, amplified so heavenly by her womanly scent; and he was also excited by the thought of touching her again. She was the only woman he had lain with in the past year because she had threatened harm to anyone else who dared show interest in him. He hated the grip she had on his life, and yet he lusted for her with an intensity that frightened him. His body pulsed violently with anticipation, and he unbuttoned his tunic as he walked toward her.

She was in her usual position for these visits, stretched out enticingly on her gold and ebony chaise, with a chalice of wine in her hand. Her thick hair was loose and weaved through in places with stands of gold that reflected the flicker of the candlelight. Her feet were bare and her long, golden gown was sheer. He lustily drank in every inch of her lovely brown form. His sex was unbearably alive.

“Good evening, my love.”

“Good evening, my Queen,” he said, bowing deeply, his eyes glued to hers.

She took a sip from her chalice and then handed it to him. He took several leisurely gulps of the full cup, still gazing into her eyes intently, without saying a word. 

She turned on her side to face him.

He sat the empty chalice on the floor. “I’ve missed you,” he said, surprising himself.

“And I, you.”

He knelt next to her and smiled, a smile of satisfaction in knowing the power had just shifted with her three words uttered.

He stroked her hair and then traced a finger on her full lips, which she parted slightly in anticipation as she closed her eyes. He cupped her face and lightly brushed her lips with his, before a deeper dive into her mouth. There was no resistance in her body as his slow kisses became more impassioned and he started gliding his free hand down her neck and over one of her round breasts, palming the area and rolling her nipple in his fingers through the gossamer fabric. She gasped at the slight pain he inflicted with his pinch.

“Come, my Queen,” he said with a rough whisper and a lascivious smile, rising and offering an outstretched hand.

She recognized this as a delicately communicated command. He was always gentle, tentative at first, before his desire and his assertion of control took full hold. It was an unspoken agreement of theirs, one she appreciated as she prepared herself for this alternate reality that only existed in their rooms, only at night. She rose with his help and allowed him to shimmy the dress up and over her body.

“So beautiful,” he said, sweeping his eyes, and then his hands, over her womanly form, which was still youthful even after she had borne two children for the king. But the king had not lived to see who his children would become in life, having expired on the battlefield.

She shuddered and then stretched to hug her beloved around his neck, fusing her body to his, eliminating as much space between them as possible. He kissed her again, roughly, this time seemingly giving her a sample of the romance he planned to inflict on her tonight.

Her stance softened even more, as she surrendered completely to him. He sustained her in his strong embrace and then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

He lowered her onto her bed and then walked back to her chaise, slowly removing the clothes he had just selected with care, slipping the tunic off of his broad shoulders and lowering his trousers past his slim waist, high ass and thick thighs. He stepped out of the clothes, left them on the chaise, and walked to her. He blew out many of the candles along the way, his confident stroll causing his large cock to bounce slightly as he closed the distance between him and her.

***

She watched the show with great interest, her consort disrobing in the way that one dramatically removes a covering from a masterpiece for the first reveal. She was riveted as he ambled to her bed, with each stride of his long, powerful legs asserting his ownership of her desire. She also admired how the set of his strong jawline was compromised by each puff of air he used to extinguish one candle after the other on his path, without her permission.

She savored his small hints of irreverence that tarnished any attempt at deference to her. Unlike her husband, the late king, she was not a benevolent ruler; she did not hesitate to correct servants and subjects who had disrespected her. For this reason, her beloved consort’s thinly veiled attitude shocked and insulted her at first. But because no one else dared to publicly express this kind of sentiment to her, his boldness became a heady aphrodisiac, along with his divine looks. With these thoughts she found herself unable to contain her anticipation of being consumed completely by his passion, both for her and a fleeting sense of power.

He climbed onto her large, plush bed and loomed over her on his knees, practically salivating. Leaning in, he kissed her, nipped at her neck and pawed at her breasts, fondling them and then licking and squeezing her nipples back to life all over again. She gasped and closed her eyes tightly as her body began to throb.

Her body buzzed more insistently for release as he migrated between her legs. All of the steely confidence she showed the world was lost to each delicate flick of his tongue on her bud, each thrust of each finger inside of her, each pleasurably anguished scream that flew from her parted lips. Her animalistic wail signaled her guards to storm the room the first time, swords drawn, only to find their rescue was the absolute last thing she wanted at that moment. They knew better now.

She continued to cry out tonight, close to the edge, until there was no edge, only a cosmos of pleasure waves with the shoreline of custom and propriety a distant memory. Her cries did not cease as her body continued to convulse, releasing a deluge of her love into his mouth.

He patiently, proudly, took it all in.

She was motionless but continued to wear her voice raw with her unbridled pleasure. He took that as his cue to mount her. His angelic face was transfigured as a wild glint shone in his eyes and the flickering candlelight accentuated the copper tone of his mane, which was in brisk motion, giving him the appearance of a feral god of the most fiery of human energies.

He was as deep inside of her as he could be, his manhood bestowing an exquisite sense of complete fullness that was intensified by his hasty thrusts. He would not last long this first time tonight, and he didn’t care. Neither did she, her cries spurring him on to go faster, harder. They both knew that there would be many opportunities for satisfaction tonight, beyond the frenzied, desperate pace in which they found themselves at the moment.

He grunted and yelled at his climax, and then he collapsed on top of her, breathless, but also more alive, emboldened. She was euphoric and ready for more. It was typical of their nights: an abdication of her duties and his coronation as her temporary ruler. The unspoken arrangement forged an irresistible bond for both of them, no matter the truth to be found in the harsh light of day.


End file.
